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*Chapter 681: Invisible Bonds*

Denial. Anger. Bargaining.

“You... how could you?!”

“You told me I could talk to him. You promised!”

The anger didn’t last long. Little Frank’s eyes softened with desperation, clutching at any shred of hope, pleading again and again, seeking confirmation from Carl.

Carl took a deep breath and finally turned to look into Little Frank’s eyes. “He fell... broke his neck. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Carl finished speaking, returned to his seat by the aisle, and turned his head away, unable to look at Little Frank any longer.

Little Frank stared at Carl in disbelief, as if frozen, eyes filled with utter despair.

He didn’t even feel sad—only hopeless.

Suddenly.

He began gasping for breath, as if suffocating, rubbing his chest in an attempt to feel the air, but it was too hard.

“No.”

“No…”

Little Frank started dry heaving, clutching his hair and banging his head on the small table, his body convulsing uncontrollably, trembling all over.

“Carl, I’m gonna puke.”

“Carl.”

“I need to go to the bathroom; I’m going to throw up.”

Carl quickly reassured the passengers around them and helped Little Frank to the restroom.

But.

Little Frank seemed to have vanished inside, and when Carl had the flight attendants unlock the door, they found it empty.

A living person had just disappeared.

Little Frank had unscrewed the drain in the restroom, climbed down near the plane’s landing gear, and rolled away the moment the plane began its landing, slipping out of the FBI’s hands once again.

So, where did Little Frank go?

His mother’s house.

Little Frank fled all the way to his mother’s door. The Christmas tree was lit with colored lights, and through the window, he could see his mother sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine. Peaceful. Serene. She exchanged a smile with her husband—a picture of happiness.

His mother didn’t notice him.

But a little girl, two or three years old, appeared by the window, playing a harmonica, gazing at him sweetly.

Little Frank: “What’s your name?”

The girl just smiled shyly.

Little Frank: “Where’s your mom?”

The little girl turned her head and pointed—toward Paula.

Little Frank froze, staring at the girl, his eyes filled with panic, fear, and helplessness, shattering his once bright blue eyes until they lost all focus.

Behind him, police sirens blared. Squad cars swarmed in from all directions, surrounding him.

Little Frank turned his head, looking back at the chaos in front of him, his mind racing. He turned back toward the window, looked at the little girl, then at his mother, and a single tear escaped, sliding down his cheek.

Step by step.

Little Frank backed away, putting distance between him and the scene, raising his hands in surrender, silently watching the little girl, tears streaming down his face.

Then, he turned around.

“Carl, get me out of here.”

“I need to get out of here, now. Carl, take me away.”

Unexpectedly, Melvin felt wetness on his cheeks. He hurriedly wiped them, realizing his face was covered in tears.

Melvin felt a bit embarrassed, worried someone might notice.

But out of the corner of his eye, he saw others discreetly wiping their own tears and sniffling quietly. It was hard to tell whether it was from sadness or something else.

At least Melvin was safe, though his eyes were filling with tears again—

When the FBI took Little Frank away, the people in the house finally noticed something was wrong. Paula appeared at the door with her daughter and husband, the image of the family of three forever etched in Little Frank’s eyes.

The camera shifted focus—from the family at the door to the shattered blue eyes of Little Frank, reflected in the rearview mirror of the police car.

“In light of the severity of your crimes, the history of your reckless actions and escapes, and your blatant disregard for U.S. law, I have no choice but to deny the request to treat you as a juvenile offender. I hereby sentence you to twelve years in the maximum-security prison in Atlanta, with a strong recommendation for solitary confinement throughout your sentence.”

Little Frank was sent to prison. In the end, he couldn’t escape.

The movie should have ended there.

But it didn’t.

Carl came to visit in prison. “Merry Christmas, Frank.”

Another Christmas Eve, and Carl was still by Little Frank’s side.

Over time, an unusual bond formed between them. Not quite friends, not quite enemies, but something invisible connected them.

Carl not only came to visit but brought a gift—

A comic book. “The Flash.”

“How’s your daughter? What’s her name?”

“Grace. Uh, I don’t really know her. She lives with her mom in Chicago, and I don’t see her much.”

“What’s in the box?”

Little Frank asked absentmindedly, but Carl didn’t mind, answering openly. “I’m on my way to the airport. It’s for a check forger working in Minnesota.”

“Oh, God, he’s driving us crazy.”

Little Frank, who had been uninterested, suddenly perked up. “Did you bring the checks?”

Carl nodded. “I brought one he wrote at Great Lakes Savings Bank.” He held it up for Little Frank to see through the glass. “He uses a platen press and a ‘Kinoshita’ typewriter.”

Little Frank studied the check carefully, spotting the key detail instantly. “The forger’s a bank teller.”

Carl froze. “What?”

Little Frank: “It’s gotta be a teller, Carl. Banks always hand-stamp the dates repeatedly, so the stamp wears down. The numbers are always broken—look at the 6 and 9; they’ve worn down first.”

Carl stood there, stiff with shock. “Thanks.”

The scene cut.

Carl reappeared, this time not as a visitor, but with the FBI assistant director, formally meeting with Little Frank in his official capacity as an FBI agent.

The assistant director handed Little Frank an envelope. “Tell me what you see.”

Little Frank squeezed the envelope, touching the check inside, already knowing the answer. “It’s a fake.”

Carl: “You haven’t even looked at it.”

Little Frank: “The edge isn’t cut properly. This check was hand-cut, not from a large sheet. The paper’s too thick for a bank check. The magnetic ink—I can feel the raised texture, but it should be smooth. And it doesn’t smell right; it’s probably drawing ink, the kind you can buy at a stationery store.”

While Little Frank talked, the camera zoomed in on Carl.

Closer. Closer.

From a close-up to a tight shot, Carl couldn’t hide his pride, raising his eyebrows slightly at his boss, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

Melvin couldn’t help but laugh, but he quickly straightened up, adjusting his posture.

In Carl’s expression, you could see the pride of a father figure, a sense of satisfaction that, despite the seriousness of the situation, made you smile. It felt like this bond was the real direction of the story.

And sure enough—

“Frank, would you be interested in working for the FBI’s financial crimes division?”

The assistant director offered Little Frank a job with the FBI. Under FBI supervision, Little Frank would be released early from prison to work for the financial crimes division, essentially “serving” his sentence as a government employee.

Little Frank: “Who would I be reporting to?”

Carl silently raised his right hand.

Chapter 682: Returning Home

FBI.

"Hi, I’m Frank Abagnale. I’m supposed to start working today."

Little Frank makes his entrance.

With clean, short hair and dressed sharply in a suit, he looks sharp and full of energy, but there’s a difference now—his once vibrant blue eyes now lack the spark they used to have. A hint of weariness and the weight of experience are faintly etched across his brow.

As he enters the office, besides Carl, Frank can feel the hostility from everyone else. They stare at him as if he’s a monster, eyes fixed on him.

Even though the stares can’t physically hurt him, Frank can still feel the sharpness of their gazes pricking at his skin.

He’s a little uneasy.

"Carl, how long do I have to work here?"

"From 8:15 AM to 5 PM. A 45-minute lunch break."

"No, I mean… how long?"

"Every day, Frank. Every day until we let you go."

Frank is trapped, going from one cage to another. Like a bird with its wings bound, his unease, frustration, and sense of loss grow with each passing day, stacking up with the files on his desk, suffocating him.

On his way home from work, Frank stops when he sees a pilot's uniform in a clothing store window.

He finds Carl and tries to make plans for the weekend, but Carl is busy. He’s preparing to head to Chicago to visit his daughter, and he needs to finish his work to avoid weekend overtime. Naturally, he has no time to worry about Frank’s weekend.

Disappointed, Frank leaves Carl’s office.

Back at his desk, Frank flips through the FBI criminal suspect files and finds his own.

Hesitating for a moment, Frank angrily rips up the photo of himself taken upon entering prison.

Huh.

The screening room falls silent—

Including Melvin.

They all thought the story was over. When Carl finally caught Frank, they assumed the cat-and-mouse game had reached its end.

But, to their surprise, not only was it not over, but there was more to come?

Totally unexpected!

But after a moment’s thought, it seemed right.

Frank had tried to escape countless times from both the FBI and prison. Over and over again, using his wits to find ways out. Did anyone really think that being locked up would mean he’d settle down?

The answer, clearly, was no.

So, if the story had ended there, it wouldn’t have felt complete. No lingering aftertaste, no depth, no room for more.

Continuing the story felt right.

Sure enough, Frank was itching to run again.

"Passengers for American Airlines Flight 355 to Chicago and San Francisco, please prepare to board…"

At the airport.

Frank appears.

Tall, confident, dashing.

A man in a pilot’s uniform steps into view, like a model walking down the runway. Even though his expression is unreadable, you can feel the joy radiating from his open posture and relaxed stride.

It seems, at last, he can breathe again.

But then—

Another figure appears behind him, calm and unhurried, hands in pockets, not rushing to catch up. From a distance, he speaks.

"How did you do it, Frank?"

It’s Carl.

"How’d you pass the Louisiana Bar exam?"

Frank’s shoulders tense up again. He turns to look at Carl. "What are you doing here?"

Carl doesn’t answer.

Frank steps back, putting some distance between them. "Look, I’m really sorry for all the trouble I caused you…"

Carl stays calm. "If you go back to Europe, you’ll die in Perpignan Prison."

Perpignan Prison, located in southern France near the Spanish border, is infamous for its lawlessness. It’s where Marseille’s criminals are often sent.

"If you try to go anywhere else in the U.S., we’ll lock you up in Atlanta for fifty years."

Frank scoffs. "I know."

He turns around and keeps walking.

Carl follows, keeping pace. "I spent four years getting you out. I have to prove to my boss and the chief prosecutor that you won’t run again."

Frank doesn’t slow down. "Why did you do that?"

Carl replies, "You’re just a kid."

Frank responds, "I’m not your kid." He pauses. "You said you were going to Chicago."

Carl says, "My daughter won’t see me this weekend. She’s going skiing."

Frank frowns. "You said she was four. You’re lying."

Carl answers, "When I left, she was four. Now she’s fifteen."

Frank glances at Carl.

Carl continues, "My wife’s been remarried for eleven years. I occasionally see Grace."

Frank says, "I don’t understand."

Carl, "No, you do. Sometimes, lying is easier."

That statement makes Frank stop, standing at a crossroads, looking down at the ticket in his hand, but not moving forward.

Carl catches up, but keeps his distance. "I’ll let you go tonight, Frank. I won’t even try to stop you. Because I know you’ll be back on Monday."

Frank finally turns around to face Carl. "Heh, how do you know I’ll come back?"

Carl chuckles and steps aside, gesturing toward the empty hallway. "Look, Frank. No one’s chasing you."

Without saying another word, Carl puts his hands back in his pockets and casually walks away.

Frank stands there, frozen, watching Carl’s retreating figure, lost in thought.

The camera cuts to the clock.

At the FBI office, Carl stares at the ticking clock. The sound of the second hand echoes in the room.

It’s not just Carl.

Melvin clenches his fists, holding his breath, his eyes fixed on the clock. His heartbeat slows, each thump feeling heavier.

The screening room falls silent, just like Carl, waiting for the outcome:

Maybe Frank will show up, maybe he won’t.

Melvin is almost certain Frank will return. Regardless of what happens in real life, this is Hollywood. Everyone’s expecting a perfect, happy ending. Only that way will Frank’s character arc feel complete. But why this lingering unease?

As time drags on, breathing becomes tense.

But Frank doesn’t show up.

Carl asks his secretary, but there’s no word from Frank.

Carl lowers his head in disappointment, hands on his hips. But there’s still work to be done.

"Good morning, I’ve called this meeting to discuss a new type of check fraud and forgery method. The suspect alters checks and sends them to Arizona…"

Suddenly, hurried footsteps approach the conference room.

Could it be Frank?

"The suspect is a gambler, writing checks in five-figure amounts…"

Bang!

The conference room door swings open, and everyone, just like Carl, holds their breath and looks toward the entrance—

It’s not Frank, but another FBI agent. "Sorry, I’m late."

Chapter 683: A Perfect Ending

Boom.

Hope soared high but came crashing down. The entire theater was filled with shock, anxiety, and nervousness, all blending with a sense of disappointment that fell like a free-fall drop from great heights.

Where was the promised happy ending? The classic Hollywood-style conclusion?

They thought they had figured out Steven Spielberg's tricks, believing they had predicted the plot, only to be surprised again and again. The story defied their expectations, plunging them into despair repeatedly. Their hearts nearly burst as they stared at the screen in disbelief, completely losing the ability to think.

The camera focused on Carl’s face.

Carl paused slightly, staring ahead, trying his best to hide the disappointment in his eyes—but he couldn’t completely conceal it.

He wasn’t as confident and certain as he had claimed.

Despite trying to trust young Frank, things weren't that simple. At that moment, Carl couldn’t help but wonder if he had misjudged the situation.

His eyelids drooped, trying to suppress the torrent of emotions, but the sadness lingered in his voice.

“There’s a forged check on Agent Rath’s desk. Let’s go take a look.”

Carl’s disappointment spread to the audience in the theater. No one expected a plot twist like this right when the story seemed to be heading toward a happy ending.

The FBI agents crowded around Rath’s desk, packed tightly in several layers.

Carl returned to his professional self, using a magnifying glass to examine the check carefully.

“Every line has been emphasized. It looks like the original amount was sixty dollars.”

Suddenly, a hand appeared, taking the magnifying glass from Carl. “Mind if I take a look?”

Carl looked up, stunned—

Buzz. Buzz-buzz-buzz.

Melvin’s heart jumped into his throat, nearly letting out a shout. He barely managed to control himself.

The next moment.

Young Frank appeared on the big screen.

Boom!

The theater erupted in noise and excitement. Some people even pumped their fists in the air, the rollercoaster of emotions finally giving way to joy and happiness. The overwhelming exhilaration exploded, spreading like wildfire. It shattered the fourth wall, blending reality and fiction.

Frank had appeared, and in the end, he didn’t let them down.

There was no grand entrance, no suspense. He simply appeared, almost casually, but that’s what made the moment even more electrifying for the audience.

The entire theater was abuzz, yet young Frank, in his navy blue suit, seemed calm and composed, effortlessly charming. There was no frustration, no fatigue on his face—just a serene confidence that commanded attention.

Carl spoke, “It was cashed in Flagstaff, a week ago.”

A small city in northern Arizona.

Young Frank nodded slightly and began studying the check with the magnifying glass.

The camera zoomed back to Carl.

Even though Carl maintained his calm demeanor, watching young Frank, you could see a hint of relief in his eyes.

“The bank lost sixteen thousand dollars.” A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening his expression.

Young Frank tilted his head. “It’s a real check.”

Carl responded, “Yes. It’s been washed.”

At this, the other agents gathered around the desk dispersed, including Agent Rath himself, and the scene opened up.

“Only the signature remains.”

Frank added, “But it’s perfect. Carl, really. I mean, it wasn’t done with acid or bleach.”

“No,” Carl said, the smile now fully spreading across his face. “It’s something new. Maybe a nail polish remover or acetone to erase the ink.”

Frank didn’t answer, fully focused on the check.

Carl hesitated for a moment but couldn’t resist asking, “How did you do it, Frank? How did you cheat and pass the Louisiana Bar Exam?”

By now, the tone had softened, no longer a harsh interrogation. It felt more like friendly conversation, tinged with curiosity.

Frank paused his examination of the check and looked up at Carl, meeting his gaze. Then, a small smile crept up.

“I didn’t cheat.”

“I studied for two weeks. Then I passed the exam.”

Carl’s smile faltered for a second. “Is that true, Frank?”

Frank just smiled.

“Is it true?”

Frank didn’t evade the question, looking Carl straight in the eye. He picked up the check and said, “I bet this guy stole the checks from the mailbox, washed off their names, and replaced them with his own.”

Carl didn’t press the issue. “So, you’re saying he’s a local?”

The camera focused on Frank, lingering on his handsome face.

Then.

The scene cut to a wide shot of Frank and Carl sitting across from each other at the desk. The camera zoomed out, and the voices of their conversation slowly faded into the background music as the credits began to roll.

“Young Frank Abagnale has been married for twenty-six years and has three sons. He now leads a quiet life in the Midwest.

Since his release from prison in 1974, Frank has helped the FBI capture some of the world’s most elusive check forgers and is regarded as one of the top anti-fraud experts in the world.

Frank has also designed security checks used by banks and Fortune 500 companies.

These companies pay Frank Abagnale millions of dollars in fees each year.

Frank and Carl remain close friends to this day.”

The movie ends.

The credits roll slowly as the swelling music continues to build in the darkness, stirring the emotions.

Melvin sat quietly, unmoving.

Even though he knew it was just a movie—a lighthearted and humorous one at that—and he knew it was a true story, though embellished and altered for artistic effect, he still couldn’t stop the surge of excitement.

A legendary life, even after the end of the criminal journey, continued to be legendary. Those few words in the credits couldn’t possibly cover all the twists and turns between 1974 and 2002. Reality was always more incredible than movies or novels, shattering expectations with ease.

Yet what mattered more was that in the end, young Frank and Carl, after all the chasing and running, found something like a “family.” Maybe Frank couldn’t save the Abagnale family, or even see his father one last time, but he found his harbor and, eventually, stopped running.

That boy, with a smile like Apollo’s, who ran from the harshness of life with all his might, who built a world of lies to armor himself and got lost in that lonely world—he finally found a warm place to rest.

That was the key.

In the darkness, Melvin’s blood raced, and he could no longer hold back. He stood up abruptly.

Chapter 684: Center of Attention

"Los Angeles Times" reported:

“This is obviously not the first time, and certainly not the last. The only thing we can be 100% sure of is that it's rare—at the premiere of a commercial film, the audience erupted into thunderous applause after the screening. After all, we aren’t at the Toronto Film Festival.

Yet, that's exactly what happened.

After the premiere of Catch Me If You Can, starring Anson Wood and Tom Hanks, the audience at the Chinese Theatre gave a standing ovation lasting for five minutes.”

Clap.

Clap! Clap!

At the end of the film, it's unclear who was the first to stand, but soon, multiple people rose, and the applause quickly swept through the venue like a tidal wave.

As Anson, Tom, Steven Spielberg, and other key members of the crew stood and took the stage for a Q&A, the energy in the room skyrocketed, releasing an incredible wave of enthusiasm that almost lifted the roof off the theater.

"TMZ" reported:

“Everything was utterly chaotic. Hollywood Boulevard was already completely blocked off, with no vehicles allowed to pass. But strangely, a nearby street set off an alarm that alerted the LAPD.

Upon investigation, officers confirmed that the noise inside the theater had grown so intense that it accidentally set off the police motorcycles parked outside. Fortunately, the area was empty, and the situation was quickly handled without causing further disruption.”

It was a comical incident.

Even though it was just a minor interlude, seasoned paparazzi were stunned. TMZ, which had gained traction over the past six months, provided an in-depth report. Compared to written accounts, the little story by TMZ better captured the astonishing reception and lingering energy of the premiere of Catch Me If You Can.

And yet, it wasn't over.

Roars.

Cheers.

The enthusiasm kept rising, with whistles, screams, and shouts mixing into the applause. The premiere had turned into a fan meeting.

"Entertainment Weekly" commented:

“I felt like I accidentally walked into a Backstreet Boys concert.”

In 2002, Twilight had not yet been released, Justin Bieber had not yet made his debut, and K-pop boy band BTS had not yet taken over the world.

But by then, the fierce competition between Backstreet Boys and NSYNC had already signaled the global takeover of idol culture. The age of "looks over everything" had quietly arrived.

Clearly, Entertainment Weekly’s comparison of the premiere to a Backstreet Boys concert was a small surprise. They didn't foresee that the music industry's idol craze would soon invade film and television, and more and more “celebrity entertainers” would enter the public eye.

Yet, judging from the scene that night, Entertainment Weekly wasn't exaggerating.

The passion, the frenzy, the chaos—it almost spun out of control.

"The Hollywood Reporter" later noted:

“The five-minute applause was relentless, showing no signs of stopping, to the point where the post-screening Q&A couldn’t even begin—until Anson finally stood up.

Anson made a simple conductor's gesture to signal a pause, and miraculously, the roaring wave of excitement quieted down. This moment, paired with the initial uproar, showcased the unparalleled influence of the actor, who had just turned twenty last month.”

When the storm finally subsided, a woman in the theater screamed in disbelief.

"Anson, I love you!"

In response, Anson spread his arms and gracefully accepted the confession, causing the audience to erupt again, nearly shaking the theater.

This was probably the most chaotic night the Chinese Theatre had ever faced.

Even reputable outlets like TMZ and Entertainment Weekly couldn't resist the whirlwind of excitement at the premiere.

And, The Hollywood Reporter went further in their coverage:

They deemed Anson’s role in Catch Me If You Can perfect—

Not only did it showcase Anson's charm as an actor, but it proved that even if he were just a "pretty face," he had undeniable charisma. Through his character, the audience could feel his struggles and growth, making them resonate deeply, solidifying Anson's presence as an actor.

The movie’s success was undeniably tied to Anson.

“After the mixed reviews of Minority Report, Steven Spielberg has delivered a flawless answer, reaffirming his directorial brilliance.”

The Hollywood Reporter’s detailed coverage didn’t just stop at gossip but used it as a springboard for a broader analysis.

Meanwhile, The New York Times took a different approach:

“In the movie, Christmas Eve holds special significance, and DreamWorks deliberately chose Christmas Eve for the film’s first public screening. The connection between the story and reality broke the fourth wall, allowing the audience to feel the warmth of the movie’s message, especially by the time the ending arrived.

After the post-screening Q&A, the crew organized a special event—a random audience member was selected, and Anson personally escorted them home, delivering a Christmas gift as a gesture to prove the existence of Christmas miracles.

Unexpectedly, this small event became the highlight of the night.

Anson explained that the event was meant to tie into the film’s theme—just as Frank Abagnale Jr. (the film’s protagonist) longs for family warmth, in real life, Anson would escort the lucky audience member home to reunite with their family on this special Christmas Eve.

However, Anson Wood's appeal was clearly underestimated, as was the draw of Catch Me If You Can and DreamWorks.

Before the seat number was even announced, the theater was overwhelmed by screams, cheers, and tears, plunging the venue into an atmosphere straight out of a movie. After the winner was announced, envious eyes turned the theater into scorched earth, and the premiere ended at the height of its frenzy.”

Of course, that wasn’t all. The New York Times further analyzed why—

From The Princess Diaries to Spider-Man to Catch Me If You Can, how Anson Wood, in just three films, became the heartthrob of all of North America.

It wasn’t just the movies but the characters and the writing that laid the foundation for Anson's meteoric rise.

From mere words, it’s impossible to capture even one percent of the intensity of the premiere’s chaos. Still, the vivid descriptions painted a scene that sparked the imagination of readers everywhere.

Some regretted missing the premiere, others envied those who witnessed the magic, some couldn’t wait to see the movie, while others grumbled that it was all just hype.

The one undeniable truth was the buzz.

The Catch Me If You Can premiere made a powerful debut, effortlessly capturing the attention of millions of families on Christmas Eve.

And the next day, on Christmas itself, aside from opening presents, what everyone cared about most was:

How was the reception for Catch Me If You Can?

Chapter 685: Restless and Ready to Move

Unbelievable!

Before the release of Catch Me If You Can, the media already predicted that the movie might cause a frenzy—after all, the overwhelming popularity of Spider-Man was still fresh in people's minds. But to be honest, the September release of a James Franco-led film turned out to be more of a media event than a blockbuster, which led many to lower their expectations for Anson's performance this time around.

However…

The premiere was a total explosion—

Regardless of the critics’ reviews, the audience collectively lost their minds.

The frenzy that followed dwarfed both Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, which were also holiday releases this year. It wasn’t even close. The opening night of Catch Me If You Can was on a completely different level of excitement.

“I love it, I love it, I absolutely freaking LOVE this movie.”

“Who could possibly resist Anson Wood? I know I can’t.”

“It was incredible. Way better than I expected. I went in with low expectations, but the movie blew my mind. A legendary experience, but more importantly, an amazing film.”

“Wow! I admit I was biased, thinking biopics are usually boring, award-bait movies. But Catch Me If You Can was so entertaining, a total delight. Honestly, Anson was flawless in this film.”

“So good. So, so good. It’s the must-watch movie of Christmas, not just this year—this is one I could watch every Christmas.”

Fox TV was ahead of the print media, sending a crew to cover the premiere live at the Chinese Theatre. After the success of their summer coverage of Spider-Man and Star Wars: Episode II, they hoped to replicate that buzz.

And once again, their gamble paid off—

The unfiltered excitement on people's faces, caught on camera without any script or rehearsal, was the most direct evidence of the audience’s reaction to the movie.

Of course, not everyone loved it. Some weren’t as hyped.

But Fox had the power of editing, and they knew exactly what message they wanted to send out.

News must report the facts, but even 100% factual information can be spun depending on how it’s arranged and presented. The same raw footage can convey very different messages—

That’s the power of media shaping public opinion.

“Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!”

A wildly excited person ran past Fox's cameras, then doubled back, jumping up and down in front of the lens, unable to contain themselves, yelling once more:

“AHHHH!”

Then they dashed off.

That scene was more vivid and effective than any elaborate praise, putting the perfect finishing touch on Fox’s live report.

The excitement felt through the TV broadcasts, combined with the written hype in magazines and newspapers, created a vivid picture of the premiere's success. Catch Me If You Can easily became the absolute talk of Christmas, dominating conversations in every household.

So—

Is Anson really worth the hype?

Had he pulled off something Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings couldn’t? Was he catapulting to the A-list after his summer box-office win?

Hollywood’s heart, torn between nervousness, anticipation, jealousy, and excitement, began to race uncontrollably again.

And then—

On Christmas morning.

“Steven, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t care. Let’s open presents.”

Steven Spielberg smiled broadly at his wife. Not a computer in sight, not even a newspaper.

Having weathered countless storms in Hollywood, the director had developed an unshakable confidence. Even if Catch Me If You Can faced some challenges or pushed his film Minority Report into a tight spot, he wasn’t worried.

Christmas is Christmas. Work could wait.

Steven was serious—he didn’t care, nor did he need to. Even if Catch Me If You Can didn’t perform well, he wasn’t concerned about his career.

“Presents! The kids can’t wait any longer.”

Steven kissed his wife on the forehead and led the way to the living room.

While Spielberg couldn’t care less about the media’s reaction to the movie,

On the other side of Hollywood, top executives, producers, directors, actors, and screenwriters were frantically flipping through newspapers and refreshing their computers for reviews. No one could ignore the final hot topic of 2002—everyone’s attention was glued to the critical consensus of Catch Me If You Can—

They were even more eager than the film’s creators.

The buzz of the premiere was one thing; media reviews were another.

Audience adoration is one thing; critical opinion is another.

Everyone knew this, but the hype surrounding Catch Me If You Can was so intense that expectations were quietly soaring even higher.

The reviews—could they live up to the hype?

The Los Angeles Times, 100 out of 100: “A genius performance, but more importantly, a genius production.”

There it was!

The first review in sight came out swinging, laying a solid foundation for the movie, and it was from one of the two most influential papers.

Expectations, already sky-high, somehow broke through the ceiling, igniting a frenzy.

Sights & Sounds, 100 out of 100: “Spielberg’s brilliance as a producer lies in his perfect casting choices. Cinematography, music, editing, costume design, and art direction come together flawlessly, creating a whirlwind of an immersive experience for viewers.

But the real stroke of genius here is casting Wood as young Frank Abagnale. His charisma fuses perfectly with the character—his vulnerability, boldness, loneliness, youthful energy, struggles, and innocence all come together seamlessly. He brings the story and character to life in a way that makes them utterly convincing, even lovable.

Without a doubt, Wood elevates this film to new heights and endless possibilities.

As incredible as it sounds, in my opinion, Wood is an even better fit for Frank Abagnale than he was for Peter Parker.

Trust me, no one should miss the brilliance of this shining star.”

Coming from this top-tier British publication, which holds even more weight than Variety and The Hollywood Reporter, such praise all but sealed the film’s critical reception—

And don’t forget, this was supposed to be a short review.

Yet Sights & Sounds went on and on, rewriting the rules of what a “short review” could be.

Their stance was crystal clear.